


Under The Shining Moon Doth Lives Change

by TheAwesomeWriter



Category: Blandings Castle - P. G. Wodehouse, Downton Abbey, Upstairs Downstairs (1971), Upstairs Downstairs (2011)
Genre: I own nothing., Multi, People from Blandings appear just with different surnames and some extra relations, People from Upstairs Downstairs (1971 - 1975) appear, People from Upstairs Downstairs (2011 - 2012) appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwesomeWriter/pseuds/TheAwesomeWriter
Summary: Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, 1939:War looms on the horizon and for the noble Crawley Family, resident of Downton since the Reformation, things are about to change drastically.





	1. Alresford Castle

* * *

**Disclaimer: ** _Downton Abbey, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to Julian Fellowes and P.G. Wodehouse. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

**Rating:** _Teen._

**Pairings:** _TBR_

**Genre: ** _P__eriod Drama_

**Warnings:** _None yet._

**Story Summary: ** _Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, 1939: War looms on the horizon and for the noble Crawley Family, resident of Downton since the Reformation, things are about to change drastically._

**Thank You:** _None yet._

* * *

**Chapter I: **Alresford Castle****

* * *

**August, 1939**

**Alresford Castle,**

**Alresford, Essex**

It was to the gentle chirping of birds from the tree next to their window that Portia St Clair, youngest daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Charnwood, awoke on one crisp, bright, warm morning in August of nineteen hundred and thirty nine.

She had not always lived in such luxury; when she had been merely Lady Portia Mountsorrel, before her marriage, she had lived in a damp, mouldy castle in Wales with her impoverished father, mother, three sisters and her brother. A tepid, boring upbringing with everything suitable for a future Duchess had been drilled into her from birth as had - much to her mother's displeasure - a thrilling desire for archaeology that her father nurtured from birth. Her brother and sisters had never cared for archaeology, but she had thrown herself into it headfirst and often joined her father on his numerous excursions.

It had been on a trip to Egypt in nineteen hundred and twenty three with her father and the Earl of Carnarvon to uncover the tomb of Tutankhamen that she had met Edmund, who had then been just the Viscount St Clair. Working as secretary for the Earl, he had been instantly enraptured by her and her by him. It had not taken long for the two of them to start a steady relationship and, in the summer of nineteen hundred and twenty five, he had proposed to her on a hot day during a family holiday to Egypt on which she had been invited. She had accepted, much to the displeasure of her mother and second eldest sister, then and there. Her second eldest sister, Catherine, newly engaged to the Marquess of Felixstowe, had believed she had married beneath herself, the daughter of a Marquess marrying naught but a future Earl.

It had not taken long for her to become a Countess - Edmund's father, Thomas, the Eighth Earl of Alresford, had passed away eighteen months after their wedding in nineteen hundred and twenty six, finally passing from the world on New Years Day of nineteen hundred and twenty eight.

The door to her bedroom swung open gently and Edmund, dark haired and strong jawed, entered. The tray in his arms had a plate of toast on it and a large slab of butter along with the Daily Mirror. Resting it down on a stand on the bed quilt, he fussed over their newborn daughter, Isis, now a month old, and then turned to her as she unfolded the newspaper.

"Your sister will be displeased when she arrives from Biarritz," she said, scanning the front page. A large picture of two smiling youths filled the front page and a large heading, in thick black letters, read: _Earl's Son To Marry._

Smiling to herself, she began to read the article:_ Reginald Crawley, Viscount Downton, eighteen year old son and heir of the Earl and Countess of Grantham, is to wed the Honourable Miss Anna Napier, eighteen year old daughter of the Viscount and Viscountess Branksome, in September. Lord and Lady Grantham are reported to be "overjoyed" at their son's upcoming __nuptials and the Viscount and Viscountess Branksome reportedly turned away many suitors in the hope that they would wed._

"Oh, let Julia rot," he muttered, lifting their daughter into his arms. "Isn't that right, Isie? Aunt Julia can shout all she likes, but it won't change anything!"

"Have you told Marianne?" asked Portia, glancing over the top of the newspaper at her husband at babbling infant daughter. 

"No," said Edmund. "I didn't need to - Marianne told me when she and Evelyn agreed to the engagement and informed me that it would be in the paper; all I had to do was say when it could be announced. Now, forgive me, my darling, I hate to leave you, but I have to meet with Jackson over the running of the estate - he's still trying to convince me to sell, when I'm sure the investments in the farms on the land is much better, especially with war coming - both in my drawing room and in the world."

"Good luck," she laughed as he leaned down to kiss her. "Should you require it, I do believe the poker is in the fireplace."

*******

Julia, widow of the late Baron Fish, puffed on her cigarette as the car arrived in the grounds of Alresford Castle; she was a forty nine year old woman of the large and blonde type, of a personality both breezy and commanding. She had a resolute chin and china-blue eyes, and a patronising good humour about her manner, though this humour did not seem to have befallen her today.

The car crunched across the gravel and came to a stop outside the grand entryway of the Castle; she smiled, noticing the waiting crowd of her family. Exhaling a large cloud of smoke, she put out her cigarette and smiled broadly as the door swung open in the hand of a footman.

"Julia, darling, welcome home!" Julia allowed a smile to cross her face - despite the currently appalling mood she was in, Portia always could put a smile on her face - and embraced her sister-in-law with a kiss to each cheek. "How was Biarritz?"

"Much the same as usual, Portia, dear," said Julia, brusquely. "But with the rattlings of war on the Continent I thought it best to come home to the safety of the family Castle. At least Britain can claim it has never been invaded by a German! You remember Ronald, of course?" Julia gestured to a young man with her: he was shorter, stouter and pink, with dark eyes and hair. 

"Of course," said Portia. "Ronnie, welcome back to Alresford. It's not often we see you from London."

"Mother insisted I come," he said, embracing his aunt. "In actuality, she all but dragged me here - just because I am courting a chorus girl." 

"And she disapproves?"

"Indeed," he said; both glanced over at Julia, who was embracing Edmund, and knew that she was listening. "Ever since father died and I inherited the title, she has been insistent that I marry someone of nobility."

"I remember someone who was presented with my sister and later married a chauffeur and my dear sister married a farmer - there's no shame in a chorus girl; it could be much worse!" 

"With respect, Portia, dear, there's-"

"Portia!" A strikingly handsome woman, with a fair, broad brow, and perfectly even white teeth came running from the entryway; she had the carriage of an empress, and her large grey eyes were misleadingly genial, though at this moment they were wide with worry, something that Portia had never seen in her sister-in-law, Constance, before. "Portia - the phone - it's one of your sisters! There was a gunshot down the line."

"My god!"

Portia disappeared back inside - Edmund close behind her - and barely acknowledged one of the servants as she pushed past and snatched the phone off the table, sending one of the vases rattling. She snatched up the speaking tube. "Hello?"

_"Tia? It's Etta!"_

"Etta - Edmund, it's my sister, Henrietta - Etta, what's happening?" - a gunshot rang out down the line - "Etta?!"

_"Tia - we're in Germany - with Henry's mother - they're shooting everything - the children - get them home - " _a second gunshot rang out, her sister screamed and the line went dead.

"Etta? _Etta!?_"

"Portia?"

She almost decapitated her husband with the telephone wire as she span to him, speaking tube in hand. "Edmund, get her home! _Get them all home!_ I want my sister here! Speak with the foreign office - and if any of your sisters have a problem with my common born brother-in-law and niece and nephews coming into this house then they can hang!"

She slammed the speaking tube back down onto the phone and marched away, leaving Edmund stood in the hall.

*******

It was the next morning before Portia heard anymore about her sister.

"The Dowager Marchioness of Charnwood and the Marchioness of Felixstowe!" announced the butler, Harolds, as he opened the door to the parlour and Portia glanced up over her book and rolled her eyes; she could already tell what was coming next - a scolding from her mother.

"Mother," said Portia, plastering a smile to her face in that manner that Julia had taught her years ago - _"always fake a smile, my dear, for it is always useful; you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar."_ \- and rose to embrace her mother.

"I won't drag the point out, Portia," said her mother, a pale, grey haired, exceptionally wrinkly woman, as she took a seat in a chair by the fire and clasped her cane firmly. "You intend to allow your sister and her... mulch churning husband... into this house?"

"Straight to the point, I see," replied Portia. "How did you find out?"

"Your cousin works at the Foreign Office, remember? He took Edmund's telephone call this morning and informed me promptly of your intentions," said her mother. "I was, I assure you, supremely surprised at this - you haven't spoken to your sister since -"

"Since you and Papa threw her out onto the streets with naught but the clothes on her back for daring to fall in love with someone who was not in the echelons of the nobility," finished Portia for her mother, with a raise of her eyebrows. "I shall be having words with Cousin Pemberton. He and Mary are coming for dinner in a few days - I shall wring him dry at the dinner table! And, while we are on the subject of Henrietta, I have had frequent contact with her over the years, though none of it, regrettably, in person."

"There is no need for that," said her sister, finally speaking. "All Cousin Pemberton did was inform Mama of a disgrace to the family."

"A disgrace?" asked Portia, truly shocked at the words emerging from her sister's mouth. It was with a rather raised eyebrow that she turned back to her mother as she continued to speak. "Heavens, Mother, you birthed her and, if I remember rightly, it was _your _decision to convince Papa to throw her out of the house. I didn't speak to him for a year after that."

"Always pertinent, weren't you?" asked her mother, pursing her lips. "Your father spoiled you."

"Why shouldn't he have spoiled me? You never did and it gave him someone to discuss Egypt with - you were always trying to keep Henrietta in line or focusing on Tobias and heaven knows that You and Mary were never interested," she added to Catherine. "To you, Mother, I was just another useless girl when you wanted a second son to secure the dynasty."

Her mother opened her mouth to reply but nothing came as Harolds swung the door open again and spoke: "The Lady Fish!"

"Thank you, Harolds," said Portia. "Julia - thank heavens - I know you disapprove, but could you please talk some sense into my mother and sister? They desire for me to throw my sister back out onto the streets, just because her husband is a commoner! Tea?"

Julia, being far from stupid and having witnessed many arguments between her many stubborn sisters over the years, had worked out that she had walked into a family argument when she had entered the room and seen several flushed red faces. 

"Yes, thank you, Portia - two sugars," she said, lowering herself into one of the remaining empty chairs. "The problem, Lady Charnwood, is not whether they are a commoner or not - but whether they are the right _type _of commoner. My third youngest sister, Florence, married a commoner and he is perfectly respectable and my second youngest sister is married to a commoner who is so rich that Croesus himself would be poor next to him - the only problem with him is that he's American, but we could not be fussy after the war, could we? A commoner is not a problem - breeding is what matters."

"So your problem with Ronnie's... unfortunate liaison... is that she's a chorus girl? Not that she's a commoner?"

"My dear - if she wasn't a painted hussy, I would marry her and Ronald this very instant."

"They have to paint, Julia," said Portia. "I do believe that is part of the job."

"Well, they needn't huss!" replied Julia, graciously acknowledging her sister-in-law's point. "Now - I haven't met this sister of yours who is married to a commoner, have I? She wasn't at your wedding to Edmund?"

"No," said Portia ruefully, handing a cup of tea to Julia. "Father wanted to invite her, but Mother was adamantly against it - I seem to remember a... rather loud... shouting match over dinner; it made me realise, then and there, that if Edmund took me after witnessing that fight then I had truly chosen the right man."

"Well, I could have told you _that!_" said Julia. "He is my brother - I have never seen someone fall so utterly and completely in love so quickly as I did when the two of you met."

"I believe you _did _tell me that," said Portia. "You were my Matron of Honour at my wedding."

"Ah, yes," noted Julia, sipping from her tea. "You wish to bring your sister here when Edmund manages to retrieve her from that godforsaken country?"

"_If_ Lord Alresford manages to retrieve her-" said Lady Charnwood, attempting to interrupt.

"Lady Charnwood," began Julia, and Portia heard that steel in her voice that she always had when offended. "My brother is a master at diplomacy. This _ignorant_ _little man_ in charge of Germany may think that he's won, but my brother will spend the entirety of the war - when it comes, and it will - making sure that he spends the rest of the war wishing he had never started a war at all!"

"Lady Julia-"

"Lady Fish, Lady Felixstowe," corrected Julia, brusquely. "I am not an unmarried woman now. My husband may have been fifty three years old and almost double my age when I married him, but I will not have his title - or memory - disrespected."

"Forgive me, Lady Fish," said Lady Felixstowe. "I forgot myself."

"See that it doesn't happen again," said Julia. She took a sip of her tea and then glanced across at Portia. "I wondered, Portia, if I could bring Angela here?"

"Anne's girl?" asked Portia, raising an eyebrow as she looked over her steaming cup of tea at Julia. "I can't see why not? Anne was Edmund's favourite sister - poor girl, to die in childbirth like that - whenever I think of her I can still see it - all that blood and screaming -"

"Twenty two," sighed Julia, sadly, in agreement, taking a sip from her tea. "No age to be taken from the world. I thought Papa would keel over and die, then and there, on the spot. She was much too young to be married; I didn't marry until I was twenty eight!"

"Yes," sighed Portia in agreement. "Invite Millicent too - she finishes boarding school soon, doesn't she?"

"Next week," said Julia. "I hadn't considered inviting her - that poor girl has been locked away at that school since Annabelle died and Millicent's guardianship passed to Anne's husband. You know how Henry travels all over the world."

"That man," sighed Portia in annoyance. "He's never in one place long enough to cast a smile, let alone raise a girl. We'll have her here," said Portia. "At least during the war - Edmund won't mind and you can keep an close eye on both Angela and Millicent. You and your numerous siblings and nieces and nephews are always welcome in this house, whether they're in exile or not. You can marry Millicent off, so she has somewhere to go after the War is over!"

"I'll write to Henry in the morning and tell him that she'll be staying here - I'll write to the boarding school too."

"I'll do it," said Portia. "I mean no offence to you of course, Julia, but a Countess outranks the widow of a Baron. I would have more power in my words."

"Of course," agreed Julia; momentarily glancing at Portia, she spoke next to Lady Felixstowe. "Tell me, Lady Felixstowe, is there any truth to the rumours that you and Lord Felixstowe are going through the process of a divorce?"

"We do not mention-"

"It is," said Lady Felixstowe, her voice cold and clipped as she spoke over her mother. "We have been trying to make the marriage work for several years now, but nothing has been successful. Charles's affair with another woman was the final thing needed to break our relationship."

Portia disguised her snort as a cough and then sipped her tea. "Forgive me, Catherine," she began. "But I never liked him. That man makes my skin crawl - even Timothy Grey is less slimy than he is!"

"That's something we could debate all day," noted Julia. "Didn't he once ask you to marry him?"

"He did," said Portia, mirthfully, trying and failing to disguise a smile. "I was engaged to Edmund at the time - it was after that family holiday in Egypt - and he couldn't take a hint - he was also already married - so I spat in his face!"

"The Countess of Hemmingsworth!" announced Harolds, the door swinging open again.

"Ah, Connie," said Julia, smiling, as her sister arrived. "We were just discussing the family holiday in twenty five. The one to Egypt when Edmund proposed to Portia. Timothy Grey asked Portia to marry him soon after and she spat in his face."

"Serves that insipid man right," muttered Constance, settling herself into a chair and pouring herself a cup of tea. "Didn't his brother blow his brains out a few years after that?"

"Yes," said Portia. "He lost everything in America in twenty nine and put a pistol in his mouth. No great loss."

"Quite a few did," noted Julia. "The Bellamy boy - a few years older than me - you remember his sister, don't you, Connie? She ran off at Lady Londonderry's Ball when we were girls - he blew his brains out too after he lost everything in America."

"Lord Bellamy's son?" asked Constance. "Yes, I remember him - poor man. His wife died shortly before Henry did. Spanish Flu."

"While we are discussing engagements, Portia - is it true that Lady Branksome has agreed to her daughter's engagement to the Crawley boy?"

"It is, Mother," said Portia, putting down her empty cup and pouring herself a new one. "Marianne and Evelyn agreed that, if she and Reginald spent a year apart and still wanted to get married, then he and Anna could get married at the end of the month: he gets back from a year in France with his great-aunt Rosamund on Monday."

"A year in France with Lady Rosamund Painswick," shuddered Julia. "I remember her from before the last war - a cold, calculating woman; she was at my wedding to Miles. If he's survived that year then he's more than worthy for Anna."

"Better him than anyone else," noted Constance. "I can't stand her - whenever I'm in London, I always have to think of an excuse to not attend the house parties thrown by that woman."

"Are you sure the Crawley boy is worthy of your niece, Portia?" asked Lady Charnwood, pouring herself a new cup of tea. "He's only a Viscount and will be for more years than he will be an Earl."

"My sister-in-law is married to _"only a Viscount"_, as you so put it," said Portia, bluntly, over her cup of tea. "So yes, he is more than worthy. If Marianne could hear you, she would skin you alive! Besides, Reginald is a sweet boy and she'll be happy with him."

"Can happiness solve all the problems that married couples go through?" asked Lady Felixstowe. "It didn't for Charles and I."

"Happiness cannot solve _all_ the problems in a marriage," said Portia, over her cup of tea. "It certainly didn't for Edmund and I - we've had more arguments than I can remember - but it can solve many of them. Whenever Edmund and I argue I always remember that he's made me happy over our years of marriage; we may argue, but he _is _always on my side, even if I can't see it."

"You and Edmund argue?" asked Lady Felixstowe, glancing over at her sister.

"Oh, yes," said Portia. "I remember when Gwaine was born. Edmund and I argued for _weeks _over what to call him - Edmund wanted to name him after his father; I wanted Gwaine after the Arthurian Legends."

"And you won in the end?" asked Lady Felixstowe. "I cannot remember the last time I won an argument against Charles. I doubt I've won an argument since we got married."

"I wouldn't call it winning," replied Portia. "We came to an agreement. We would call this son Gwaine - and the next one, whenever he comes, we will name after Edmund's father. We both get our way then."

"Have you argued since?"

"No," said Portia. "Edmund and I do love one another - unlike you, dear sister, I didn't _just _marry for duty and rank. I married for love as well; yes, Edmund would be an Earl one day, but I didn't marry him for that - I married him because he was handsome and made me laugh."

"Well said," agreed Julia. "Well said, indeed."

* * *


	2. Downton Abbey

* * *

**Disclaimer: ** _Downton Abbey, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to Julian Fellowes and P.G. Wodehouse Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, TheAwesomeWriter._

**Rating:** _Teen._

**Pairings:** _TBR_

**Genre: ** _P__eriod Drama_

**Warnings:** _None yet._

**Story Summary: ** _Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, 1939: War looms on the horizon and for the noble Crawley Family, resident of Downton since the Reformation, things are about to change drastically._

**Thank You:** _None yet._

* * *

**Chapter II: Downton Abbey**

* * *

**1st September, 1939**

**Downton Abbey,**

**Downton, Yorkshire**

"Which of your relatives are coming to the wedding?" asked Reginald as he walked, arm in arm, around the grounds of Downton Abbey with Anna. 

"Well, there's my Aunt Julia - she wasn't coming, originally, as she was in Biarritz, but she arrived home early, so now she's coming - and Cousin Ronald. I think you met him last year in London? He's the cousin having a fling with a chorus girl."

"Ah, yes," said Reginald, nodding. "I remember him. Short and fat and pink?"

"That's him," agreed Anna. "Aunt Georgina and Uncle Clarence are coming with George, his wife and their sons, and Frederick. Quite fortunately, Mildred's husband just _'can't get away from the office, Anna, darling'_."

"Some animosity?"

"Just because she married a Colonel from the war... Ugh... she'll die eventually..."

"Your cousin Frederick - he's the drunk from your Season, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Anna. "Papa was _furious _when he almost ruined things - I've never heard him shout like that at Aunt Georgina before. Uncle Henry can normally put himself between them until they've cooled down, but he's not coming - he can't get away unfortunately; he's in Portugal doing something for the Government. Angela will come though - Aunt Portia will bring her and Millicent; they're staying at Alresford with Aunt Julia and Aunt Portia for the foreseeable future."

"Your uncle Henry's sister had her Season with my Aunt Sybil, didn't she? Annabel Heathcliffe? Died a few years ago?"

"That's her," said Anna. "It was the first time, the _only_ time, I've seen Uncle Henry cry. She might have only been his half-sister, but she's all he's had since Aunt Anne passed on - I never met her - Aunt Anne, I mean - she was long dead when I was born."

"I heard Aunt Sybil say something years ago. Childbirth, wasn't it?"

"Was it? I never asked," admitted Anna. "Angela asked about her mother once - I couldn't have been older than six - and I thought uncle Henry would tear her to pieces. I never broached the subject after that."

"Poor man," agreed Reginald. "He must have loved her so."

"She defied her parents to marry him and they travelled all over the world together, like two bohemian lovers in a romance novel."

"Ha!" laughed Reginald. "If only one could. Your Aunt Portia and Uncle Edmund are coming? Can he get away from the War Office?"

"Uncle Edmund _is _the War Office," said Anna. "If he wants to get away, he's coming - their children aren't; they're too young - they're staying at home with their Governess. Aunt Constance will be bringing Evangeline - she's married to the Lewis-Carey heir - and Eugenia - she's married to Jack Carrouse."

"I know Eugenia's husband - I remember Johnny Carrouse telling me his brother had married; he hated it - with Jack married his parents turned their attention to _his _future matrimony. He fled back to Cambridge just to avoid them."

"Aunt Constance is a frightening woman," admitted Anna. "She can utterly explode if things don't go the way she desires. Mama can usually calm her down, though. She and Papa are coming from Alresford with Aunt Portia and Uncle Edmund. My siblings are coming down from Branksome House tomorrow so that my sister can be measured and fitted for last minute alterations to her maid-of-honour dress."

"Mama will be thrilled - a house full of screaming teenagers."

"I wouldn't underestimate my mother - If my siblings misbehave, she'll terrify them into submission with that glare she has."

"Reminds me of Mama," muttered Reginald, quickly. "Not a word of that to her. She thinks I'm not frightened of her. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Not a word," agreed his fiance, just as quickly back. "Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Angus are bringing Jane, Phoebe and Priscilla. You know Hawthorne Argyllson, right?"

"Not really," said Reginald. "Apparently Aunt Edith once attempted to court him before he refused her, but that's about as much as I know. Why?"

"Hawthorne Argyllson is married to Jane. He'll be coming - with their little boy. And Uncle Gally said he wouldn't miss the chance to drive his sisters mad, so I assume he's coming - I do hope so - he's my favourite. Get him to tell you the story with the prawns! Just not in front of any civilised company - _all _of my aunts and Mama put on their glare if he does so in public. Papa finds the story hilarious."

"I'll ask him - you can introduce me when he arrives."

"Aunt Hermione will be coming with Colonel Munch and Virginie. Aunt Hermione likes French things - hence her poor unfortunate daughter's name. Virginie is a darling - she's only eleven and already hates her name."

"Can't say I blame her."

"No," agreed Anna. "Nor can I. Aunt Julia was vehemently against it, or so Mama said. Aunt Florence is coming to the wedding, but I don't know if she's bringing her new husband. They separated a few months ago."

"I remember that," said Reginald. "It was in the paper a few years ago - it caused quite a scandal. I read about it at Cambridge; _'Sir Dortmund Cornell's widow marries a penniless painter'_."

"That's right," said Anna. "Like Aunt Florence, Aunt Diana also married a commoner - he's American, but we mustn't hold that against him - owns a large car factory and several greyhounds and an old tea plantation in America. Makes his money breeding and racing horses. He's as rich as Croesus and built a manor house in Colombia."

"Henry will love him."

"Your great-grandmother won't."

"She hates everything American, so that's no surprise. Oh, heavens - Great-granny's coming for the wedding too. That'll be fun - I'll get Papa to sit them as far away from one another as is humanely possible."

"And then, lastly, there's Aunt Dora and Cousin Prudence. Aunt Dora's husband, Everard Garland, died a few years ago - an old war injury, I believe? I heard Aunt Portia and Aunt Dora talking once."

"We're going to be surrounded by family then."

"Yes," she said, glancing up at him. "Still sure you want to marry me?"

"A thousand times over," he said, smirking and kissing her forehead. "I wouldn't have asked you at your Season, right in front of everyone, if I wasn't sure I wanted it to happen."

*******

Lady Hermione Munch was a short and fat woman who had grey eyes and blonde hair and resembled a cook. It was something she disliked very much - especially when people who did not know her confused her for one such type.

"You won't ever have been to Downton, my darling Virginie," said Lady Hermione Munch to her dazzlingly beautiful eleven-year-old daughter, Virginie, as the car rattled up the gravel drive way of the stately home that was Downton Abbey. "It has been many years since I was last here. Oh, _look_, Munchy! They're waiting for us!"

Colonel Egbert Munch - a tall, thin, grey haired man with dark eyes - merely smiled gently, holding back a sigh as his daughter's eyes widened at the sight of Downton Abbey and she began bouncing on her seat. "Yes, dear," he said, genially.

As the car came to a halt and the door swung open, Reginald saw Anna take a deep breath and compose herself. Smiling, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and then, as Lady Hermione Munch approached, bowed his head in acknowledgement. Anna dropped into a curtsey next to him.

"Lady Hermione," he said, greeting her warmly. "Welcome to Downton Abbey. Please forgive the informality of the occasion. Mama and Papa decided that Anna and I should greet Anna's family as you all arrive for our upcoming matrimony. Mama and Papa are waiting for you in the library. It's inside, the first door on the left."

Lady Hermione dipped a curtsey, one as perfect as it needed to be. "Thank you, Lord Downton," she said. "I look forward to exploring the grounds." She turned to her daughter. "Come, Virginie."

Virginie smiled at Anna and trotted meekly after her mother, dipping a small curtsey as she passed her cousin and her fiance.

"Hello, Uncle Munchy," said Anna, smiling, as she embraced the Colonel in a tight hug. "Welcome."

"Thank you, Anna, darling," he said. He parted from the hug and turned to Reginald. "This young man must be Reginald - I've heard much about you. Do you love my niece, young man?"

"With all I am, Colonel," said Reginald.

Colonel Munch nodded his head and made a noise of acknowledgement. "My niece has chosen well. I do hope you're prepared to marry into this family. It can be a shock - I had no idea my wife could be such a battle-axe until I married her. Imagine my horror when she was expecting Virginie."

"We're not expecting yet," said Reginald. "So I need not worry about that yet."

"Indeed," said Colonel Munch. "All you have to worry about is being shot at. You leave next week, don't you?"

"The third," said Reginald. "The day after the wedding. I should be home for Christmas."

"Let's hope this war does not last as long as the last one. Or cost as many men."

*******

**2nd September, 1939**

"Aunt Rosamund!"

"Mary, dear," replied Lady Rosamund Painswick, kissing her niece on the cheek as one of the footman closed the car door behind her. "A wonderful day for a wedding."

Rosamund Painswick would never have greeted her niece so formally normally, especially not after Robert's death and Matthew's accession to the Earldom, but today was a day for family and the twosome were alone. Today, formality be damned.

"Did you bring a lady's maid?"

"Alas, no," said Rosamund. "Mine handed in her notice just days ago."

"Maybe we can find you one here. I'm advertising for a new lady's maid myself."

"Oh, has Anna disappointed?"

"Not a lady's maid for me," replied Mary, giving her aunt a warning glance. "Anna's wonderful - I trust her more than anyone - except Matthew, of course - Anna has enough blackmail material on me that she could bring down the whole family if she wanted. No - Mary's home from Germany; it seems she drove her old lady's maid into leaving. So, I am advertising for a new one for her. You could listen in and, when my daughter inevitably rejects someone good, you can hire her."

"A good plan. Where is the groom?" she asked, as Mary led her into Downton Abbey.

"Getting dressed."

"And the bride?"

"Much the same, one would hope. Mama's with her - and Lady Branksome."

"Good. So, everything is going to plan?"

"As much as a wedding can," said Mary. She and Rosamund entered the library. "Hello, darling." She kissed her husband on the cheek and then resumed speaking to her aunt. "Lady Hermione threatened to ruin everything - she disapproves of Reginald, you see? - but Marianne and Portia put a stop to that."

"Put a stop to what?"

"Your sister's meddling," said Matthew, from the large sofa, not even looking up from behind his book. "Mary was telling Aunt Rosamund about Lady Hermione's disapproval of our son."

"Ah," said Edmund understandingly. "Worry not. My sister disapproves of everything - the only thing she enjoyed was shooting our governess in the backside with a cap rifle when we were children and even then she could never hit Doris Templeton's titanic, snail paced rump."

"Your sisters aren't all that bad, are they?" asked Rosamund, allowing that familiar smirk to cross her face.

"Certainly not," said Portia, entering the library herself. "Constance and Julia can be a little prickly, of course, but neither of them are going to ruin the wedding. Reginald is of the nobility. In their eyes, he is respectable enough for their niece."

"Hello, love," said Edmund, kissing her cheek. "Everyone settled?"

"I think so," replied Portia, smiling. "Today has reminded me as to why I refuse to house all of your sisters under our roof at once. Julia, Georgiana and Constance are arguing with Hermione. Again."

Edmund sighed in annoyance. "Let them argue. Constance, Julia and Georgiana will beat some sense into Hermione eventually."

"Let us hope so."

"If she doesn't, Mama certainly will," added Rosamund. "I assume Mama is here?"

The look that Mary and Matthew shared answered her question.

*******

At the excruciatingly old age of ninety seven, Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham, had picked many a fight in her life - and she had won all of them. Well, almost. Isobel, even at their advanced ages, could still hold her own in battle.

"Why was I summoned for this?" asked Isobel as the twosome ascended the stairs. "Surely you can handle one, small, angry woman?"

"I could, yes," said Violet, brusquely. "But I thought, given that Reginald is _your _grandson as well as my great-grandson, that I should recruit someone as sharp-witted as I to... convince Lady Hermione to change her mind about him. She disapproves of him."

"Why?"

"No-one knows," said Violet. "I believe she thinks his future status as Earl will not be high enough a status for her niece."

"After everything we have been through to secure Downton for Reginald, I hope you intend to prove her wrong?"

"No, Isobel," said Violet, as they reached the top of the stairs. "I intend _us_ to prove her wrong. This is why you were summoned. This is the one."

They had reached a door - the door to the Napoleon Suite. Violet pushed the door open; Isobel put on her best fake-smile, the one she often used whenever her stepson, Tim, came to tea.

*******

"Lady Hermione!"

If the Baroness Fish, the Countess of Bolsover and the Countess Of Hemmingsworth were surprised to see the aged Dowager Countess of Grantham and the Baroness Merton entering the bedroom, entirely unannounced, none of them revealed it.

"Have you entered the wrong room?"

Lady Hermione Munch was a short, fat woman with a stern face who looked like a cook.

"Far from it. This _was_ my house. I lived here for forty years. I know my way around it."

"Then why are you here?"

"I thought we could get to know one another. Our two families are to be joined in matrimony. Isobel and I met before Matthew and Mary married, didn't we?"

Isobel knew that was a lie and Violet knew that Isobel knew that her statement was a lie; the two had not sat down and talked before the wedding - far too much had been going on, especially with the now departed Martha Levinson visiting. "Oh, yes," agreed Isobel, assuredly. "The future of the family requires steady hands at the helm, does it not, cousin Violet?"

For one, small, brief moment, Violet Crawley wondered if she had, even after all these years, judged Isobel wrong. A steady hand? She could work with that. "Indeed," she agreed. "No family survives if one card falls. We must get this right."

*******

At the sight of his sister, Charles Napier almost cried. His sister was beautiful, he'd never deny what was true, but in her wedding dress she looked even more beautiful than ever. She stepped out of the carriage, resplendent in her white wedding dress, joined to their father's arm.

Their father smiled and, almost as if losing a treasure, deposited his daughter's arm into her brother's, kissed her on the cheek, and then disappeared into the church.

Charles turned into position and the doors of the church opened; the organ began to play and he began to lead her down the aisle towards her future.

"You're certain about this?" he whispered. "There's still time to run if he's not the one."

"He is," she whispered back. "There was never going to be anyone else for me. Aunt Hermione might think I'm making the wrong choice, but I could never be happy with anyone else."

"Good," he said, quietly. "And ignore Aunt Hermione. She's a cow. She married a Colonel who was knighted after the war - and you're marrying the future Earl of Grantham, not to mention you'll be the future Viscountess Branksome when Papa dies."

"Not for a while yet, I hope."

They reached the end of the aisle; Anna handed the bouquet of flowers in her arms to their sister, Catherine, and Charles relinquished her, casting a warning glare to his soon-to-be-brother-in-law.

"My Lord, Ladies and Gentlemen," began Reverend Travis.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," said Reginald, under his breath, to Anna.

"Really?" she said. "I always knew I would."

"I suppose I am worth it then?"

"Always," she said, noticing the stupid smile on his face.

* * *


End file.
